RICHARD PATTERSON'S ENNOBLEMENT.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 166, 7 August 1909, Page 3

RICHARD PATTERSON'S ENNOBLEMENT.

The evening before our story opens Richard Patterson had made a bow of unnecessary length to the girl whom he supposed he loved, and gone from her presence, ,for they had agreed to walk their separate ways thereafter. In the first flush of hurt pride he had given a servant a message for his mother, had mounted his horse, and set out on a ride, near the end of which we meet him. Professedly he was going to Beltville to visit an uncle; actually- he was ridding himself of the probability of soon meeting his one-time sweetheart. His uncle, a bookworm, who lived in almost perfept seclusion, wa6 overjoyed when Richard walked into his study, and the young man was given a latchkey and assurance of perpetual welcome ;n the house. He accepted both, declining, however, to take up his abode there. Hotel life suited him 'better. For weeks thereafter he spent much time talking with the old man and reading the beloved books. In the midst of a reminiscent talk one night, Richard tossed a half-smoked cigar in the fire and said, turning his handsome face full to his uncle:

"By the bye, Uncle Wiimer, I have just remembered something I want t° ask you. I have discovered a rare face here at Beltville—a face that makes me feel as I fplt when I stood in the great cathedral at Cologne, one twilight." "And how was that?" asked"the old man, glancing keenly at him. Richard hesitated, looking at the fire, thoughtful, trying to find correct expression of the unusual feelings in question. Then he said:

"I felt ashamed of jnv life of easesorry that I had not divided my »oods with the poor. I felt that all men were my brothers, and that my soul was the best part of me; I felt that God regarded me with displeasure, yet with love. Positively, I never see "this face I have mentioned that I do not remember that cathedral and the impressions it inspired." "And you want to know the woman's name?" the old man asked.

Richard glanced quicklv at him. "I did not know 1 said "it is a woman's face," he commented. "But it is, and I think perhaps you can tell me about her. The eyes are bluc-grev and somewhat deep-set. The mouth 'i s large, the brow high, complexion beautifully" clear hair dark. It is ihe expression'of the race that affects m e. It is peace after tumult of grief. She is young, not ibovc twenty-five, I should judge." I see her often; at church, in the street, out driving, and always with a companion 'J her own sex. Do you recognise her?" "Yes, 1 know and love her," the old man said. "I am glad you have come ! to me and not to another with your question. It is '-thoughts off" concerning her, my boy. Rayda Hess has ■riven her love once, and I believe it was an eternal giving. "When she was a girl of nineteen she was married to Henry Hess, whom she idored. Their carriage was overturned on the way from church, and he was 1 illed almost instantly. Ravda was carried from his lifeless'form with stony grief on her face and in her heart. Three awful years passed before she struggled into the woman she now is, a being who is absolutely an angel of sympathy. She blesses every sorrowsmitten one, rich or poor," saint 07 sinner. She conies as near to being idolised by a whole townful as anyone I ever knew or heard of. Moreover, she is as true to Hess to-day as she was when she married him, and she will never give her love to another."

The old nian paused, and he and Richard looked silently at the glowing coals. Then Richard said: "It would be worth something to win such love as that woman feels. The little affair I have just lived through is like child's play seen by the light this Rayda Hess throws on love. It is over, uncle. lam healed." j The older of the men smiled.

"Be sure you do not think to your hurt of the face you have found hero at Beltville," lie said.

Richard answered nothing; but In Ms •heart lie knew that tile time for warning lias passed that henceforth he could I>ut plan to win the love of Rayda Hess. Assuredly it would he hard (o do—a man of his present stamp might not -win it. But lie could rise out of Ms present self and .Heroine worthy of a great love. With wealth, education, and incentive, why should, he not? He smiled as he felt within him n strange, because utterly new, sensation of power, and determined to bring aliout. a change in his own character, doing it at lSeltville, hefore the verv eyes of Rayda Hess. When he should 'have nuide hii character strong and sweet, liecausc nohle. lie would otfe r his love to her—and receive here hi return. He did not once think she would not give it to him. Being worthy of her, he would have naught to fear. Seven years had passed since the death of young Hess. and he did not helieve it was in the power of a woman, when young, to refuse wealth, honor, and the love of n living man. simply because, years before, she had loved another, now dead. TlcltviUe needed nothing so much as to have her resources cultivated. There was a splendid opening for an iron foundry. What prestige its establishment would give its founder! There were a few consultations with leading men, and within a short time the foundry was established and hundreds of the poor finding steady employment. The worthless existence of Richard Patterson was eiided, and he began to live. Full of an enthusiasm which was inspiring, he talked with common Jaborcr and with skilted artisan, giving personal supervision to every detail of the work going on, winning at the outset the admiring devotion of his men. His uncle regarded him with amazement and with pride, often leaving his beloved books to roam about the foundry and hold consultations with his neohew. It became a habit with the young people of the place to visit the foundry at night in order to see the molten, red-hot iron poured from the immense furnace into the sand moulds. Ravda was often there at such times. She had long since met Richard, and the two were friends. She had learned his past from his uncle, and looked upon his present with admiration. She knew that he had heard her story, for she had spoken with him of Hcnrv Hess. Richard noted the sad expression of eye and face at the time, and the loving tenderness of her .voice. What rapture it would be to lift the shadow from licr , 'icarf and put there sunshine and singing birds! He would do it vet! A man cannot silently foster his love .Tad thoroughly control his heart. Rich- : nrd pr«w tired of seeing Rayda ahvavs ■ the same calm friend, seeming totally F unsuspicious of ths fact that any man • would dare to eare for her. Fearing to t ruin his cause bv rashness, vet restive -! to an unbearable he started

forth one afternoon to walk himself into a reasonable, calm way of thinking about her. That very morning she had told him she would give her life to do the pood he had <lme; that there were certain people is tie ivpriil übo coulij

never grow away from the blessing of his inlluenee. And he had turned red in the face and nearly choked with the effort necessary to keep from telling her it was all her doing. When he started on his solitary walk lie paid no attention to directum except to avoid the foundry. It was a raw, bleak day in early spring, wet with heavy rains, more rain threatening. He was so rapt in thought that he was

oblivious of the fact that he entered i gateway and followed the drive, walk-

ing rapidly. Without knowing it, he was in the cemetery. Suddenly he was brought to himself by hearing someone

■'Mr. Patterson, what is the matter?" lie wheeled about and looked into Rayda's sympathetic eyes. She stood beside a grave on which she had just placed fresh flowers—the grave of Henry Pess. Richard wondered if it would for ever separate them. "I thought something serious had happened to you," Rayda said. "You looked—well, absorbed and displeased." "Did I?" he asked. "I was studying I a problem, Mrs. Hess. Do you believe j one love can so occupy any human heart that no other love can ever enter it?" "Xo," she answered. "A real love but flts one for loving others, so that all the world seems closer." "Not that," lie said, almost petulantly. "Forgive me if I dare too much; but do you believe that any woman,

having loved and lost as you have, for instance, could ever give such love again ?" '

"I cannot say. I only believe I never could." Then "she looked at him, and something in his face made her feel strangely troubled. Instinctively she moved nearer to the grave, as though <o gain strength from the memories connected with it. "Why do you ask me this?" she 6aid.

1 He saw her uneasiness, and it gave him hope. "Because yours is too noble a life to waste in grief," he said, boldly. "Love is possible "

' "Stop!", she cried, sharply. "I will not listen—it i 6 treason. My life is not wasted—it belongs to him." She pointed to the mound, yet, strangely enough, moved a little from it. "I can never love another—l shall be true to the end."

Her words were a spur to the heart of the man at her side.

"You may believe that, but I believe you will change your mind, 'because 1 will that you shall," he said within his soul. Aloud he said: "But you—you are one woman in a million."

Just then footsteps beat the hard roadway, and they saw a man from the foundry making directly towards them. • "The boss sent me for you, Mr. (Patterson," ho cried. "The river has risen ;o much since this morning that all our part of the town is in danger." "I will come at once," Richard said; and, bowing to Eayda, he was gone. That night few at Beltville slept, and l'undreds of lanterns twinkled here and there, neither gas nor electric lights having yet blessed this mountain town. Women and children watched the rise of the waters, -while men worked heroic, ally to remove what was possible of their threatened property. The scene was weird and exciting, and shortly after midnight screams for help added to it a tragic element. They came from people who, trying to save "their household effects, had dared too much, and were caught in the swirling, onrushing waters. But for the blackness of night, every one so entrapped might have been rescued. As it was, a panic settled over the throng, and mothers called frantically for children, husbands for wives, sad men fdr each other, the many calls .misleading rather than guiding. The remainder of the night wa6 fraught with agony. The dawn, grey and sullen, revealed wreckage .everywhere, and terror-stricken faces looking questioningly at other faces. Here and there family groups clung together, glad no one was missing; but other groups moaned and wept. Presently it was whispered that no one could find Richard Patterson. During the early part of the night he had been seen running hither and thither helping this one and that, working like a Hercules. As nearly as could be jellied, he had been seen last helping (Ms foreman to save his goods. Since then —two o'clock —how many long hours had passed! _ "Oh, he'll come directly!" trembling lips would say. But the hopeful words always faltered, the speakers bciiijr weighed with fear that the best friend Beltville had ever known would never again be seen in the place. The morning dragged over the wrecked portion of the town and over the unwrecked portion. The afternoon dragged after it. Another black, rainy night set in, and Richard was still missing. His uncle sat in his library, hl> face hidden by his hands, and every few minutes lie murmured: "I won't be the one to tell the boy's mother. 1 can't do that—no!'

The great anxiety about Richard s" far outweighed regret for loss of property that, almost unheeded, the muddy waters s-iaked the carpets and lower walls ol many a home. The foundry itself was flooded: new dangers threatened; yet Richard's absence made oth'-r matters insignificant. Mounted men followed the rive r for miles, telegrams (lashed to many places, and evprv timi a newcomer approached a group lie was hailed with the question; • "Any news of him?"

Three days passed, and despair settled on the town. But Rayda Hess never lost hope. The, rumor of Patterson's death had caused her a curious shock, the nature of which she did not herself recognise. "With gleaming eyes and set .mouth she went among the people, counselling, assisting, but ever on the alert for tidings of the man so universally mourned.

"He is not dead," she said. ."Clod! would not let him die. He will come i.ack to us and bo all he ever was. Somewhere, Richard Patterson lives." And her faith was rewarded. On the fourth day after the flood the postmaster received a letter from a village some miles south. It stated that a man and two children had been taken from a piece of flooring floating on the river; that one child was dead, the other uninjured; that the man was unconscious when rescued, but had revived long enough to give his name as Patterson and his town as Beltville. When asked whom he, would like to see, he had answered, "Rayda." He was injured on his left side and was badly cut 071 the head. He was still delirious, and continually begged to speak to "Rayda." This last item lllled Rayda with surprise and a certain kind of alarm. She asked her heart a dozen questions, failing to find answers to some of them. Hut *he was one of the large parly that hoarded the noon train to go to the place where Richard was suffering. Awed and apprehensive silence dominated the people during the trip. All felt that Richard had risked his life to save the children. And now would he himself he dead when they should reach j him*-

A crowd of wondering villagers watched the little company of strangers who walked in silence from the station across the street to the hotel. Hut the hotelkeoper allowed no one to enter with them. Richard, he said, was still delirious, and his kind eyes readitv singled out the parents of the children. Another minute and he saw a living child snatched to the arms of her parents, while a man and a woman '/nclt, sobbing, by a rude casket wherein lay their little onej and Kayda looked en with brimming eyes, not knowing for whom she felt the more the parents who rejoiced, or the parents who wept. But for Kayda herself the next few days were full of anxiety, wonder, revelation. In his delirium Richard insisted that she should stay r oy him, ami other sentences of his made her guess correctly the state of his feeling for her. She was sincerely glad when he was pronounced out of danger and she was free to gp tyome. It was several weeks before Richard

himself returned to Beltville; but he ordered the routine at the foundry l.» go on as if he were (here, and with right good will the people went lo work. 1 'l.hc place showed not the faintest sign of the freshet when at last ho did return, and he was cheered until he was compelled to mount a box and make Hie workmen a speech. He was very while and weak, and leaned on his uncle's walking-cane; but bis eyes were luminous, his smile radiant,'and his whole bearing full of the old-time magnetism. His first private interview with Rnyda Hess took place several evenings later. The hour \va« late when he at last stood on the front steps bidding her "Good-

night." The moonlight fell on his bare head and upturned face, and on Ravda. standing in the porch, looking down at I him. He was saying: I "That is (rue. You never gave me sol .much as a word, so little as n look, on which to build a hope. Yet. thanks to von. mv nature has been lifted from iow to high estate, and I have been vi rnnoldrd through mv love for yon that T am strong enough morally, even spiritually, to keep foothold on my mwent plane without the possession of vmr I love. But, oh! with your love, wlmt could T not dare! iMnv the find vnnr ..pure life has taught me to revere.-. ■<• guide you when you write me the ile-

cision you are to make to-morrow!" | He put out his hand, and Rayda said "Good-night" as she placed her own in its clasp. For a moment they looked silently into oach other's eyes; then. Rayda turned, passed slowly into the hall, and up the stairs to her own bedroom. Locking the door, she went directly to her trunk, took therefrom a ease of gold about the size of a man'sl watch, opened it, and sat down to gaze at the picture face of Henry Hess. Tears were in her eyes; but she smiled even as she wept.

"You will understand, Harry," sli murmured.

And when she at last put awav th locket her face was bright with the' ligli of a new hope. Can you guess what answer she gav Richard Patterson on the morrow?—]! Clara Morcton.